Closer
by Merenwen Luinwel
Summary: It's the best she expects she will get out of him. One-Shot.


**Just a bit of an extended drabble about Smash. I don't anything obviously.**

She receives flowers. Many bouquets of flowers. Most from people she doesn't even know. Reporters, investors, producers...all suddenly interested in the understudy who swoops in and shines as Marilyn. She leaves them scattered about her hotel room, paying no attention to them.

Except for one.

An orchid plant with a note that didn't have a name on it. _(She wouldn't need it anyway, the words "for my star" were enough)_

She wonders how he even knew that she loves orchids. A plant that is so delicate it requires the right amount of caring and devotion. Too much or too little and it won't survive. A metaphor that seems to be just a little too pointed to be a coincidence.

She wonders if he intended that when he sent it.

* * *

A week and several previews later and she doesn't feel any better.

She has trouble sleeping despite her success in Bombshell. She takes to using the hotel's gym at odd hours to work out the anger, the hurt and the betrayal. _(so far it hasn't seemed to help much)_

He starts to show up at the same time. She never asks how he seems to know when she's there. She wonders if it's a habit of his she stumbled onto or if he is only there because she is.

They never talk. He only ever stays as long as she does. She glances up at him as they step off the treadmills one night and he offers her a slight, sad smile. His sympathy should infuriate her, but it only feels oddly comforting. As they leave, she tries not to notice the way his eyes linger on her spandex clad legs as she walks in front of him. Or the way every fiber in her body suddenly feels aware.

She fails.

* * *

He sits next to her on the train to Philadelphia. He says they need to review and adjust the songs because Rebecca required them in a lower key and she obviously does not. Five minutes into the conversation and the train seems to be lulling her into the sleep she has been desperately missing for the last two weeks.

After her third yawn, he sighs and closes the notebook. "Sleep love, I know you need it."

She stares at him. Allows the endearment roll off her back. Finally he rolls his eyes and gestures to his shoulder. It seems more intimate than it should really.

She settles her head on his shoulder, her body rigid and the position uncomfortable. When he doesn't complain she allows herself to relax, but not before noticing that he has closed his eyes as well.

The train jerks her awake as it pulls into the station. She glances around quickly to see if anyone in the cast saw them sleeping together, is satisfied when no one seems to be paying them any mind.

She knows someone saw anyway.

* * *

A week into previews in Philly and they're all out at a bar celebrating their recent successes and letting off steam. She's curious and the tequila is making her feel reckless.

She drops gracelessly onto the stool next to him at the bar _(she doesn't feel like she needs to be on her best behavior around him anymore)_, orders another shot of tequila and downs it quickly. She faces him, ignoring his amused smirk at her behavior and blurts "Why haven't you tried to?"

He raises his eyebrows and gives her a genuinely confused look. "Tried to what exactly?" He brings his glass of scotch to his lips and she unabashedly watches him take a sip. She bits at her lip and wonders why the hell she thought this would be a good idea.

"Tried to sleep with me yet."

He simply stares at her for a beat, sets his glass back on the bar while running his eyes over her siren red dress that dips low in the front and rides dangerously high on her thighs from the way she dropped onto the stool. He leans forward, a hand on her hip, his lips next to her ear. His voice is low, sultry when he says "Darling, who says I haven't been?"

She forgets how to breathe, her mouth goes dry. She remembers her mother telling her to never provoke a sleeping bear. Tequila courage seems to have left her.

She pushes past him to leave, feeling every bit the scared little bird he always accused her of being.

* * *

They return to New York a few weeks of successful previews _(__and wordless agreement to ignore her actions in the bar)_. The train pulls into the station at 11 o'clock at night. She is tired and hungry and suddenly realizes she never gave any thought to what she would do when she got back to the city.

She doesn't even flinch when he steps beside her and invades her space _(__her body seems to be constantly aware of his presence at all times)_, doesn't even feel uncomfortable when he takes her hand and starts to pull her to the exit. "We're going to get some pie," he says, an adorable look on his face and she marvels at how nice he seems when he hasn't any pretenses to keep.

They wind up at a diner she never would have pictured him in. Broken down seats, stained laminated menus, and paper napkins.

It feels like home to her.

She thinks that was his intention.

Over pieces of apple pie they discuss where she is going to be living and how she is going to get her things from her old apartment. He refuses to let her pay when she stands to leave for Jessica's place.

She convinces herself it wasn't a date.

* * *

When she finally gives in, she expects him to be rude about it. Leave right after, ask her to go home, be gone when she wakes up.

None of that happens.

Instead he is everywhere…all the time.

Papers, notes, the tea he claims is the real stuff _(n__ot the pansy tea Americans drink)_, a razor, and scarves all start to pile up around her small apartment. He walks with her arm in his to her apartment, holds her purse for her when she needs him to, even cooks when she is just too tired to do so. She's not scared exactly, just waiting for him to drop her and move onto the next leading lady like she watched him do so easily before.

She finally asks him one night as she lies on her bed on her stomach. "Why haven't you left me yet?"

He stops shuffling the papers on her coffee table and considers her question briefly before answering, "I don't have a reason to." His eyes burn into hers and she feels in her heart like he is trying to say more than he really is. She smiles and turns her attention back to her magazine.

It's the best she expects she will get out of him.


End file.
